Soif de Sang
by SolemnSerpent
Summary: The conditions at Sawmill are terrible, and Respawn is a relatively new technology. New on the job, the BLU Spy notices that some things aren't as they seem... Eventual RED Sniper/BLU Spy pairing.
1. The Encounter

The BLU Spy sagged against one of the walls of Respawn, his breath ragged. He rested his head against the cold cement for a moment, trying to steady his heartbeat. He dragged his hand down his mask, the fabric soaked with cold sweat. It made him want to gag. The sweat reminded him too much of the flames licking at his suit, his skin and bone sizzling and melting under the force of a flamethrower. Twice, the masked figure had found out his location, once after a lucky stab on one of the RED Spies, and the other after destroying a sentry nest. This time, it had taken a bit longer for the arsonist to finish him off, and he'd felt every moment, even as the new Respawn machine erased his corpse. The first time he had gone through the so-called miracle machine, he had vomited his breakfast up, and now he didn't feel much better.

Clutching the wall for support, the Spy staggered a few steps, before it was apparent he needed a more than a few moments to recover. He sank onto a nearby bench, one hand clutching at the sweaty balaclava. It was his first week on the job, and he still wasn't used to the clinging fabric. Hell, he wasn't used to being the Spy, with all the fancy new technology thrust into his incapable hands. He had been instructed briefly on how to use the invisibility watch, and the electro-sapper. The disguise kit he had puzzled out after the first day, and of course he knew his way around a knife and gun.

His main job was to take out the RED Medics, Snipers, and Engineers, and to assist the rest of the team as best he could to retrieve a bright red briefcase stashed away on the other side of the battlefield. The Spy knew that his company, BLU, wanted the information hidden away in the briefcase, and he knew that he would have to crack the encoded information on the papers if his team ever captured the intelligence. He sighed, rubbing at his head again before standing up. His legs felt less like jelly, so that meant he ought to go and take another stab at crossing the battlefield.

Hands shaking, the Spy pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Behind him, the machine spat one of the BLU Medics and a BLU Soldier out. Ignoring him, the two sped out of the Respawn room, the Medic training his healing rays on the Soldier. Unlike him, the others had been stationed at the base for a while, and were used to the effects of the death-defying machine. He was the only Spy stationed at Sawmill, a mixed blessing and a curse. He would have liked to see someone else in action, to point out his objectives and targets, and someone to shoulder some of the paperwork, but then again he was glad there was no other Spy to mock some of his pitiful performances.

The automatic door lifted up as he stepped in front of it, revealing muddy turf and pouring rain. In Sawmill, it always rained. The bases were made out of solid planks and ugly concrete blocks, made to withstand the constant wear and tear of the rough weather. Within moments, the Spy's suit was already soaking wet, and his face was already cold. He sighed, and threw his cigarette onto the ground before stamping it out. He hated the rain, the mud, and the chill.

Instinct told him to duck. He had seen the red dot out of the corner of his eye, and his body reacted before his mind had fully processed the meaning of the rifle sight. The Spy rolled forward, his hand flying to the watch on his wrist and activating the cloak. The bullet hit the side of the base, the Spy heard the RED Sniper curse from above, and now the Spy was covered in freezing cold mud. However, the condition of his clothing was less concerning as the Sniper lined up his sight again, the red dot flickering along the wall. Searching. The RED Sniper continued his search for about a minute before the red dot vanished from the bare wall. The Spy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, before his cloak vanished and he realized he was standing out in the open. Slipping underneath the eave of one of the shacks, the Spy shivered as he waited for his cloak to recharge.

The Sniper scared him. The Australian was the only Sniper on RED, and he was resourceful, clever, and intimidating. Wearing a strange hood and mask combo, the assassin preferred to hide in places no one expected. It was common to see someone on BLU fall to a shot that no one saw coming, and it made Spy all the more paranoid. He had taken to crossing open areas fully cloaked, but that still didn't stop the RED Sniper from killing him four times and giving him a headache from Respawn. At least the deaths were quick and clean. Sometimes he would wake up without realizing he had died. For that, the Spy respected the RED Sniper, but he still feared crossing paths with the Australian.

Once his cloak had recharged, the Spy fumbled with his disguise kit for a moment. He had learned that disguising as a RED Spy posed certain risks, such as being constantly spy-checked. The RED team stationed at Sawmill had two RED Spies, both of whom were constantly harassing the main offensive classes. As such, they rarely crossed paths with their teams. That was how the Pyro found him the first day on the job, and decided spy checking with an axe to the face would be the best option. The Spy's hand passed over his face. It was becoming a bad habit, but he couldn't help but check that he was still in one piece. Headshots, axes, bone saws, rockets had all but destroyed his body so many times, and the Spy had to keep touching his face, his arms, and his torso to reassure himself that everything was still in one piece. At least, for the moment.

The battle was taking place inside the main building, where two whirring saw blades provided a constant danger to the combatants. The Spy slipped between two piles of wood, his disguise kit flashing around him. In a second, he was a RED Pyro, 'flamethrower' in hand, shuffling around behind a pile of wood. He heard a Demoman nearby scream, followed by the sound of an explosion. His hands were shaking under the disguise as one of the RED Soldiers passed by, rocket launcher in hand. The American didn't spare him any glance, but instead booked it to the battlefield silently. The Spy let out another sigh of relief, and then checked the charge on his watch. It was full, so he activated the cloak and slipped past a BLU Engineer placing a sentry nest.

One of the BLU Scouts had showed him a good way of getting over toward RED's side. It involved getting close to the main battle, which was risky, but it would place him in a prime position to grab the intelligence. Once he broke RED's defenses, his team would be able to push up and one of the Scouts could make it to him and take the intelligence back to their side. It was a simple plan, but it was really all he could come up with. The Spy only hoped that the Scouts would be there in time, or else he would meet a sticky end.

The ladder was placed right next to the main building containing the saw blades; his heart fell when he saw the mess that was going on there. The RED fighters had a level 3 sentry up that was decimating his team, along with two Demomen. The BLU Medics were building their charges along with their patients. The Spy also spotted one of the two BLU Scouts, impatiently waiting for the doctors to get full uber.

"C'mon doc," the Scout hissed, his hand twitching on the trigger of the scattergun he carried. He was prancing around, practically jumping at the bit to get moving.

Everyone started as the Spy uncloaked right next to the Scout, and only after spy checking him at least three times the small team relaxed.

"I have a plan monsieurs," The Spy began, his throat suddenly dry. It was awkward to take charge like this. He was used to obeying orders, rather than issuing them himself, and he hoped it would not reflect on him badly if this plan went awry.

"I will be going to ze intelligence and will try to take out ze defenses. 'Owever, I will need ze team to push up as I do so, and that ze Scout can break through ze line. Once 'e does, I can pass 'im ze intelligence since he is the faster of ze two of us. If I am still alive, I will try to cover 'is retreat. If not, well…" he trailed off awkwardly. He felt nervous as the team stared at him for a few moments, but to his relief, the BLU Medic nodded and took charged. Turning to the others, he laid out the battle plan.

"It is bettah zan nothing for now, herr Spy. I vill be pushing up with ze Soldier through ze main entrance once I am fully charged, and we vill try to take out ze sentry nest along with ze other Medic and Heavy, who vill be pushing from ze side entrance," he said, nodding at the two aforementioned, "Und zen ve vill keep trying to hold ze main building while you do your vork. Ze Scout, I don't doubt, vill take another route to meet up vith you at ze intelligence. Once you secure ze intelligence, ve vill try to keep a vindow open for ze boy's escape."

"I ain't a boy, doc!"

"Any other questions?" The Medic ignored the Scout's remark, glancing around at the assembled mercenaries. Seeing none, the German nodded sharply at the Spy. The Spy nodded back, and he activated the cloak once more. He heard the first BLU Medic behind him calling out instructions, but the sounds of battle soon muted his voice. The Spy slipped around the main entrance to the building, setting a straight course for the ladder that led up to a portion of the roof. The roof was treacherous, the tiles soaking wet and slippery, but it was the easiest route the Spy could see. The inside of the building was jam packed with REDs, including two of their Pyros. The Spy could see the abominations excitedly moving around, their flamethrowers bathing every nook and cranny with tongues of white-hot fire. He was glad he was not in there.

The ladder creaked slightly as the Spy tested his weight, but otherwise held firm. It kept creaking as he ascended, but hopefully the pouring rain would mask the sound to anyone nearby. Once he was at the top of the ladder he crawled on his hands and knees (his suit was already soaking wet at this point, so why not?) until he found firm footing. However, he didn't trust the wet tiles, and crawled most of the distance until he could peek over the edge. The roof he was on overlooked a giant pool of water, fed by a roaring waterfall. In the middle of said pool, there was a giant log floating there, acting a sort of bridge. The Spy did NOT want to go swimming in that icy death trap, no sir. However, a little ways further from where he was lying, there was a small place where he could lower himself off of the roof and onto a small mound of mud. Unfortunately in doing so he splashed mud on himself, and he froze for a moment, hoping no one saw what he had done.

Then he groaned. The mud had splattered all over his cloak, making small brown splotches 'hover' and move randomly whenever he shifted. He would have to wash the mud off of his suit before he could do anything else. The waterfall crashed down into the icy pool nearby, and the Spy shivered. He was already cold, and he was already wet. He sneezed once, and then wiped his nose with a soaking wet handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his blazer. It did little to help. He felt miserable, sopping wet and muddy, and taking a brisk dip in an icy pool while already freezing was an incredibly stupid idea. He probably already had a cold, but getting hypothermia wasn't his plan.

Shivering, the Spy pulled out his handkerchief again and strode over to the pond, dipping the already wet fabric into the frigid waters, and then wrung it out. He started to scrub at his suit, cleaning the worst of the mud away. His fingers felt numb under his leather gloves, and he dropped the handkerchief a few times. Afterwards, his silk handkerchief was ruined, and he felt more miserable than ever. The Spy sneezed again, and rubbed his nose mournfully. He felt like shit, but he had a job to do.

"Merde," he hissed under his breath, his leather shoes squelching in the mud. He adjusted the paper mask over his face, straightened his tie, and pulled out his knife. The sapper was located in the inner pocket of his suit, a place where he could easily pull it out. He would need to use it soon enough, if there was a sentry nest inside the flooded intelligence room. Likely as not, there would be. It would be foolish otherwise.

The Spy heard the ominous beeping of a sentry gun as he neared the doorway leading down into the flooded basement safe that contained the glowing red briefcase. He inched down the floorboards, edging his way into the place. As he did so, a red object out of the corner of his eye. Sticky bombs! The blasted things were placed all around the doorway, hidden to anyone walking into the Intel room. If the Scout managed to break through the RED line, he would be blown to bits before he could escape with the intelligence. That meant the Demoman had to be nearby, probably down in the basement. Sure enough, the Spy spotted the black demolitions expert lounging in one corner, a bottle of his booze in one hand as he leaned against a table. In the other corner, sitting behind his sentry gun, was the RED Engineer, with the dispenser situated behind him. His cloaking watch was running out of energy quickly and he needed the enemy's dispenser to keep the charge up. As long as he was disguised, the machine would keep on charging his watch.

It was a tight squeeze between the beeping sentry and the wall, but the Spy managed it. His heart felt fit to burst when the Engineer yawned and stretched his arms around, his left hand just nearly brushing the Spy's face. The Spy froze in place, his heart hammering in his chest. It was all he could do to not make a sound that would give away his presence, and when the Engineer folded his arms again he let out a shaky, silent breath of relief. He crouched down behind the dispenser, gloved hands gripping one side of the dispenser. In return, the machine responded with a nigh inaudible hum, sending a feedback reaction to his body and powering his watch. The Spy remained crouched like that for a few minutes, poised, waiting for a moment to strike. The sounds of battle drew closer and closer, until finally the Demoman staggered upright and wobbled out of the room. The Engineer remained silent, but he did adjust the brim of his hat as the drunk Scotsman got to the entrance to the Intelligence and then vomited all over the doorframe.

Quick as a snake, the Spy dropped his cloak, rearing up behind the Engineer. One muddy, gloved hand covered the Texan's mouth while the other sought the sweet spot on the spine, the place he had been taught to go for. The Texan died with nary a sound, dropping to the ground, his dying sounds masked by the Demo's retching. The Spy knew he had to act quickly now, as the sentry was swinging around, detecting the presence of a BLU. Ducking down, the Spy snatched the electro-sapper out of his blazer and attached it to the giant turret. The beeping stopped right away, the only sound remaining was the fizzling of circuits and gears. But the Spy was not done yet. The Demoman hadn't realized what had happened yet, but was straightening up and wiping off of his mouth. The Spy dashed forward, his knife at the ready.

The Scot had no time to turn around fully before the Frenchman's knife caught him in the back. It wasn't quite the spine, but it was painful. The Scot howled in pain as the knife tore through his shoulder when the Spy pulled it out, and then reversed his grip on the bottle to something more battle-worthy. However, the Spy was already one step ahead, his hand flying to the gun hidden in his blazer while the hand holding the knife slashed out, scoring a hit across the RED's face. The Demoman reeled back a step, and that was all the Frenchman needed. The revolver fired once, twice, three times, and the Scotsman fell to the floor, dead.

The Spy stood over the dead RED for a moment, panting heavily. Adrenaline was pumping through him, and he was sweating from the fight. Moreover, he couldn't believe he had actually pulled off his part of the plan- _without a hitch._ It was the first time since coming to this wretched base that he had managed to do something that hadn't gone terribly wrong. _No, don't get ahead of the game. The Scout still needs to get here. Something could still go wrong._

"Aw, gross man! Did I just step in vomit?"

"Good, you are 'ere, Scout. Ze briefcase is just down 'ere," The Spy called, his shoulders gratefully sagging. The Bostonian stepped inside, leapt over the Demoman's corpse, and dashed down. The kid grabbed the briefcase without so much as a warning, and the Spy cringed as the Announcer's voice boomed out: 'WE HAVE TAKEN THE ENEMY INTELLIGENCE!'

The kid was practically out the door before he stopped suddenly. The Spy nearly ran into him, because he had been trying to get out of the intelligence room as well before the REDs flooded the area to try and protect their briefcase. The Bostonian opened his big mouth to say something, probably a taunt, but the kid never had a chance. Again, the Spy spotted the red dot, but this time it wasn't lingering on a wall, but instead on the Scout's face. There was no time to shout a warning, so instead, the Spy just ducked. The Scout's brains and blood splashed onto him, soaking his suit in a warm crimson tide as the headless body crumpled to the ground, the briefcase sliding out of his hand. He was helpless, out in the open, and the red dot was tracing his forehead now, circling around and around the sweet spot every Sniper went for. He couldn't see the RED Sniper, but he could picture the man, hood and mask making a ferocious sight to behold, laughing quietly as he aimed down the sight of his rifle. The Spy closed his eyes, ready for the Respawn headache when he would wake up on the other side of the battlefield.

But he didn't wake up in Respawn a few moments later. He was still standing there awkwardly, covered in the Scout's brain fluid and the briefcase at his feet. The red dot was no longer there, and the Spy couldn't explain why. What had the Sniper been waiting for? He had had a clear target, and motivation for killing a BLU. The man had had no problem taking out the Scout, so why hadn't he taken out the Spy?

"TINY POODLE MAN MUST BRING TINY CASE TO DOKTOR!"

A Heavy's shout startled the Spy out of his confusion. Picking up the briefcase, the Spy stuck his head out beyond the doorframe to see the BLU Medic and accompanying Heavy standing a few yards away. Both were scratched up from the push past RED's main line of defense. The Heavy was covered in bullet wounds, which were slowly healing under the guidance of the Medic's medigun.

"Wait, did you just call me a poodle-" The Spy started, but the Heavy shook his head violently.

"Tiny poodle man must give Doktor the case so we can get it back safely. Other doktor and the Soldier are holding off the tiny baby RED team. Is no time for debate!" The Heavy boomed loudly, gesturing at him wildly with one hand. Sighing at the use of that terrible nickname, the Spy dashed forward, throwing the light briefcase towards the massive Russian. The Heavy caught it with one hand and strapped it to his back before hoisting his giant minigun up and starting back the way they came. The Spy could hear shouting from that direction, behind the main building, and assumed the bulk of the fighting was there. He rubbed a smear of blood off of his watch, checking the charge, and then activated his cloak again. He felt bone weary after all the action he had gone through, and it was just the start.

The main building was practically deserted, with the exception of two Soldiers duking it out between the saw blades. It would be too dangerous to pass through the fighting, where rockets were flying everywhere and exploding with an alarming blast radius. No, the Spy could take the stairs to the roof, and risk the slippery tiles again. Great. It was just his luck, too. He tiptoed up the stairs as the RED Soldier finally blasted the other one into giblets. At least that blood didn't get on his suit as he crouched on the stairs, watching the victor bang his helmet with a shovel.

The rain pouring down washed the blood off of his suit, at least, as the Spy inched his way over the roof tiles, wincing as his cloak faded away suddenly. He thought the charge would have held out longer, and he tapped his watch, as he remained awkwardly positioned on the slick rooftop.

"Ah! Quite a surprise seeing you here, non?" The voice of the RED Spy echoed from behind him, and the BLU Spy stood up, his hand going for the butterfly knife. His knife caught the man's shoulder, but it went wide, tearing the suit and drawing a line of blood before the other grabbed his wrist and twisted sharply until the Spy was forced to drop the knife. As he struggled, the RED agent grabbed his other wrist, a cruel grin appearing on his face. The RED Spy began shoving him back, his grip like iron on BLU's wrists as the Spy struggled. The realization of the enemy intended to do dawned on the Spy far too late- his foot had already reached open space. With a final push, the RED shoved him into open air before laughing menacingly. However, he seemed to be getting smaller as the Spy fell, and the last thing he saw of the enemy was a flicker of red cloak.

The Spy did not have to wait for long before he crashed into something solid. He had hit the log floating in the pond dead-on. With a crunch, the bones in his left shoulder and arm were broken instantly, his back felt like it was on fire, his leg turned to lead, and he screamed before his limp body slid off the soaking wet log and into the icy water. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as the Spy thrashed to get oxygen, but he was sinking too quickly. His right arm flailed uselessly- he couldn't feel his left leg or arm, and his back was killing him. Blood streamed past his eyes when his side ached, as the surface grew distant, but not too distant. The pond was only a few yards deep, but it was enough to drown a helpless man. He choked on water as his lungs gave out, and his vision rapidly darkened. The last thing he saw was a splash above him, but he was too far gone to see what had entered the pool. He swallowed water and let his eyes close, succumbing to the darkness.

The next thing he knew, strong hands were bearing down on his chest, pumping it, forcing him to retch up the water he had swallowed. He heaved multiple times, but he could not find the strength to open his eyes and find out who was saving him. His savior did not speak, but the Spy heard the ripping of cloth and heard the man- for it was a man- grunt as he lifted the Spy partially off the ground. Then the Spy heard the sound of something being tugged, and suddenly his left side was on fire- his savior was tugging something out of his side- did he hit the log harder than he thought? However, the man gave a savage wrench at whatever was in the Spy's side, and the hand that had been partially supporting him clamped over his mouth, muffling the dreadful scream the Spy would have let out now that his side was throbbing with the painful feeling of being on fire. When a cloth pressed against the wound, he blacked out again.

When the Spy came to again, he had the sensation of being carried. Strong arms pressed his limp form against something warm and solid. He groaned, the wound in his side throbbing painfully. _"Don't die on me, Spook."_ A voice hissed, but the Spy couldn't tell if it was his imagination or reality. The arms clutched him tighter, and the Spy slipped off into unconsciousness again.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the wooden wall of a shack. Groaning, the Frenchman shakily lifted himself to his hands and knees, hand clutching at his side. He was in a small shack right across from the main building at Sawmill. From the lack of any sounds, and the fact that the rain had subsided, the Spy assumed the battle was over. However, whoever his mysterious rescuer had been, there was no sign of him now. But, there was a clean bandage, made from a ripped white shirt if he was to be the judge, wrapped around his waist. The fabric was now dyed red, but the Spy did not see what had been in the wound. A giant splinter of wood, perhaps?

Rising to his feet, the Spy staggered against the wall, bracing himself against it for support. He needed to see a Medic, now. He made his way slowly back to the Respawn room, grasping the wall for support. What he did not spot was the red dot of a rifle, slowly following him back to the BLU base.


	2. The Morning After: RED Sniper

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for how short it is! ;u; It is much harder writing Sniper than it is Spy for me- I hope you can forgive me! The next update should be arriving tomorrow or the day after, so stay tuned. As always, please R&R.**

* * *

"You've got blood on your hands."

The RED Sniper turned around at the RED Spy's remark, his scowl hidden under his mask and hood. It had only been a few minutes since he had left the BLU Spy lying on the floor of that shack, and he wasn't in the mood for talking.

"'S not mine," He grunted, shouldering his rifle, and then stalked away, making a beeline for the stairs before anyone else could initiate conversation. He could barely register the voices around him as the team headed for the showers. All he wanted to do was get to the safety of his quarters. Unlike the rest of the team, the Sniper lived in the loft of the base, away from the others. Though the roof was leaky and the place was mostly damp it was the only place where he could think clearly, and remain undisturbed. And presently, that was exactly what he needed to do.

The Australian shucked off his boots the instant he slammed the loft door closed and bolted it for good measure. He placed his rifle on its designated stand- cleaning could come later- and then plopped down onto the crate that served as his seat. He sighed heavily, reaching to pull his hood back before staring at the red staining his palm and nails. His hands were still covered in the BLU Spy's blood. Another heavy sigh.

He hadn't been thinking, when he dropped his rifle and dove into that icy pond. He had seen the whole encounter between the two Spies. Hell, he'd seen the BLU Spy killed dozens of times- and he had been killed by the Frenchman a few times- without batting an eye. Seeing the BLU impaled on the log, screaming, and then watching the suit vanish under the surface of the water had snapped something inside him.

The next thing he knew he was pumping the Frenchman's chest, carrying him out of the frigid waters, and bandaging his wounds, all the while muttering 'Don't you die on me,' and 'You better live, dammit'. When the BLU Spy regained consciousness in the shack, the Sniper had watched him limp back to base before finally retreating to his own.

Why? Why did he help the man who he was supposed to hate? He couldn't stand it anymore; standing up, the Sniper dashed over to one of the leaky parts of the roof. There was a bucket to catch the falling water, filled nearly to the brim. Plunging his hands in, the RED Sniper scrubbed the blood off, tinting the water a faint pink. There, his hands were clean again, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of something being off. The BLU had been limp in his arms, groaning and shivering- no longer an intimidating presence on the field of battle, but someone vulnerable and human.

_The way he looked at me back then. _The Spy had clear green eyes that appeared so vulnerable, especially with that red dot placed right over his forehead. When he had looked up into the scope, the Sniper hadn't been able to pull the trigger. He had never found this a problem before. So why did he hesitate now? Wrestling with these elusive feelings was like wrestling with a gator in the mud- always slipping away when he thought he had them in his grasp. He was a professional, dammit! He was supposed to be in control!

_Bloody Spook._ With a growl he ripped off the hood and mask, throwing the articles onto the mattress that served as his bed. The aviators were placed more carefully next to his rifle, and then the Sniper began to disrobe. He stripped off his soaked clothing and threw them into a crate full of the week's dirty laundry. Grabbing a nearby towel, he furiously rubbed his hair and skin dry.

He didn't bother getting dressed in his uniform again- he was going to skip dinner and mull over his problems with an early sleep. Slipping on a dry pair of boxers, the Sniper slid under the massive coverlet and multitude of blankets. After a few minutes had passed, the Sniper grumbled loudly and shifted, searching for a comfortable position where his thoughts could fade away. Every time he closed his eyes, the BLU Spy popped up, unconscious, bleeding…

It was only after a half an hour of restless tossing and turning could the Sniper finally pass out into oblivion, but his dreams were filled with lightning flashes and a blue-suited figure in a freezing pond.

* * *

The morning brought only more rain. He awoke sprawling off of the mattress, tangled up in the mass of sheets. The Sniper groaned, untangling one hand from the blankets to rub at his face. He was covered in cold sweat, courtesy of a troubled night's sleep. "Piss!" He hissed under his breath, disengaging himself from his bedding. It took a few moments to complete his morning routine, which consisted of getting dressed, polishing his rifle, and opening a window to let the cold air in. The Sniper didn't mind the rain as much, and the cold air soothed his raging headache. _Rotten backstabbin' snake._

There was still about an hour or two before the next battle when the Sniper trudged down the stairs in search of breakfast. He needed at least a pot of coffee to feel alive again. He could hear his teammates moving around in the cafeteria/dining area. Judging by the lack of shouting and by the lack of smoke, it was not Pyro's turn to cook breakfast. God, he hoped it was Truckie who was making a meal. Only Engie and Spy (and himself) could be trusted with the handling of meals, but the Frenchman was reluctant to do anything in the kitchen, and the rest of the team merely whipped up the food (if it could be called that) from cans. But Engineer made the best meals- and for breakfast, it meant hash browns, bacon, and eggs that weren't rubber coated in oleo. At the thought of food, Sniper's stomach growled.

After exchanging greetings with the Texan, the Sniper settled down with his mug full of coffee and his breakfast plate balanced on his legs. The dining room was usually chock full of noise at this hour, and the Sniper really didn't want his headache to get any worse.

The sound of a cloak deactivating sent a cold shiver down the Sniper's spine, and he nearly upset his plate when he noticed the red clad figure beside him The RED Spy smirked at him, bearing his own cup of coffee, and neatly crossed his legs.

"Thought you had better things tah do than sneakin' up on yer teammate," The Sniper grunted, stabbing his fork into his eggs moodily. He was sick and tired of all the ruddy spies in Sawmill, whether on his team or not. The Spy smirked at him again and casually beckoned with one hand.

"Last night, after ze round had ended for at least a half an hour, you returned to ze base with blood on your hands and zhen you skipped dinner. What were you doing?" The Spy leaned closer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Surely, nothing against ze rules?"

The Sniper swallowed a sip of coffee, his gut churning. Had the bastard seen him diving into the pool after the BLU Spy? Had he seen the Sniper, the RED Sniper, bandaging the Frenchman's wounds and letting him walk back to his base unharmed? The Sniper repressed a shiver. He knew both of the Spies would report a teammate's misconduct to the Administrator at the drop of a hat, if only for the pleasure of seeing someone else punished. Everyone knew there was a reward for turning in traitors- better equipment, prime base locations, and saner teammates.

When the Sniper spoke, he was glad that his voice did not tremble. "Ran into a BLU Spy climbing out of th' waterfall pond just before the round ended. I finished 'im off hand to hand, 'cause the rifle's piss poor at close range. Round ended roight when I killed 'im, an' then I had to get up to me nest and pack up all my gear. Walked back to respawn, stowed everything in my locker, and since it was Soldier's turn to cook last night, I decided to sleep early. Satisfied?" He glared over the top of his aviators at the smug grin of the Spy, his hands trembling slightly. To mask this, he took another sip of his coffee.

Thankfully, the Spy just nodded once and got off of the couch, leaving the Sniper alone again. Still, he felt watched. He had seen neither hide nor hair of the other Spy. It could be possible the other was watching him, cloaked. It took him a quarter of the time he usually took to finish breakfast, and he nearly threw his dishes into the sink. He paced himself after exiting the kitchen, taking slow, deliberate steps back up to the loft. He would have to be extra careful today, maybe affirm his story by killing the BLU Spy a few times. Strangely, the idea made his stomach clench, imaging the BLU Spy bleeding and shot, but he shook it off. He was a professional, dammit.


	3. Revenge: BLU Spy

**Author's Note: I was sick, I was tired, but I did it guys. Enjoy the next chapter. **

**~x~**

The Spy opened his eyes to the sound of laughter. For a moment, he panicked, unsure of where he was. He remembered collapsing outside of the infirmary, and then… nothing. He was lying on his back, his arms loosely splayed over his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the medigun that had been permanently attached to the ceiling. Overhead, he could hear the cooing of doves and the flapping of wings. It seemed the Medic had found him before he bled out.

Grimacing, the Spy sat up, rubbing his balaclava. It was still damp from the rain and the pool, which meant that his team hadn't tried to take it off while he was out. It was a small mercy, at least. It would cost him his job to be seen without the balaclava. Best not to think of that now.

He found himself on one of the uncomfortable hospital beds, covered by a thin blanket. He was shirtless, but he still had his pants and belt. His shirt, along with his blazer and shoes, were placed neatly on a chair nearby. The Frenchman winced to see his clothes ruined. All of his hand-tailored clothing was stained with blood, mud, and water. It wasn't hard to spot the gaping holes and tears in the dark fabric.

The Spy groaned, rubbing at his temples in order to ease the oncoming headache. He made a mental note to purchase another suit, because no amount of hydrogen peroxide and thread was going to fix` that mess. It was just another problem for him to deal with. There was no sign of the injury, not even bandages to mark where it had been. It was the Medic's work, with his machine that could bring anyone back from the brink of death. It would be easy to forget that he had even been injured in the first place, except…

The Frenchman sighed, covering his eyes with one gloved hand. He expected to wake up in Respawn after falling into the frigid water. But someone saved him; rescued him from drowning and removed the chunk of wood that had been imbedded in his side. The same person bandaged him up, left him somewhere dry, and then disappeared.

But who would do that? It couldn't have been a teammate; they would've stuck around at least. Someone from the RED team, perhaps? No, that was entirely out of the question. There was no love lost between the employees of RED and BLU. _Who was it then?_ The Spy was back at his original question, and it frustrated him. _Better yet, __**why**__ would someone save me?_

No matter what angle he looked at the question from, it didn't make any damn sense. There was nothing to gain from saving the BLU Spy from drowning. He was new to this war, and new to his team. He got along amicably with most of his teammates, but they were mere colleagues; co-operation was encouraged to maintain effectiveness in battle. There was no incentive to save him from a painful trip to Respawn. Not to mention that a teammate would have waited for the Spy to regain consciousness, or at least dragged his body to one of the Medics-

_Enough!_ All this musing was getting him nowhere. There was not enough evidence to figure out just who saved him from the pond, and he was only giving himself a headache trying to piece together the puzzle.

_There will be time later for this. I need to get out of the medical bay and back to my quarters. A shower would not go amiss either._

The clock on the wall read 4:13 AM. The Spy grimaced at the time. He had spent the entire night in the med bay. The call for breakfast would sound at exactly 6:30, and the day's battle would begin promptly at 7. That meant he had two hours to freshen up and collect his thoughts. Time to move.

The tile floor was ice under his feet, and the Spy shivered slightly as he took a few steps. He snatched his blazer and rifled through the pockets, checking for all of his equipment. He trusted the Medics on his team, of course, but that did not mean a curious teammate could've stopped by and taken a look at his disguise kit and watch. The watch was place in the blazer's front pocket, and the revolver, sapper, and disguise kit were in their proper places, untouched. The Spy exhaled slowly, tracing his gloved fingers over the barrel of his gun. It was soothing, the feeling of power granted by the gun. The power over another man's life or death made up for the fact that he was shivering half naked in his base's infirmary at four in the morning.

The grip of the revolver fit his hand perfectly when the Spy slipped his finger inside the trigger guard. There was mud coated on the underside of the barrel, and when the Spy tipped the whole gun down to inspect the chamber, a small stream of mud drizzled out of the inside of the gun and onto his pants. The Spy swore loudly. _My day does not seem to be improving._

Glancing around, the Spy tucked the revolver and blazer under his arm, feigning a casual pose as he strode towards the med bay doors. The hallways were quiet, as most of the team did not get up for another 45 minutes, and by most of the team the Spy meant the Soldiers and Demos and Scouts, who couldn't be louder and more annoying if they tried. The Scouts in particular tended to pry into everyone's business, and the fact that the Frenchman was walking around shirtless in bloodstained pants was not something the base saw every day.

Dignity intact, the Spy let out a sigh of relief when he slipped in the door with the 'Spy' plaque tacked on. Once inside, he fumbled with all the new locks he installed on the door (all nine of them) until he was sure he would have his privacy. Since he was in cahoots with a bunch of lunatics, it meant that proper etiquette such as knocking was ignored by most of his teammates.

Nevertheless, now he was safe. The Spy tugged off his gloves and pants, dropping them in the laundry hamper as he padded over to his shower. The blazer and shirt were dropped into the 'to be burned' basket, and his gear was left on the bathroom counter. He would clean them later. Right now, getting under the hot water was a priority.

The Spy faced the mirror, eyes scanning his reflection. There wasn't a bruise or mark from yesterday, courtesy of the Medic's work. He couldn't delay much longer, but the Spy didn't want to take off his mask. Call it paranoia, but he had become too used to hiding his face all the time. He instead fumbled for a moment, turning on the shower. The sound of falling water filled the room, and some of the tension in the Spy's shoulders bled out.

Slowly, his hands strayed to the top of his balaclava, and the Spy closed his eyes before he tugged the mask off. The skin around his mouth and eyes were slightly more tanned than the rest of his face. His hair was all over the place, plastered to his head in some places and sticking straight up in others, damp with sweat and water. There was the scar, which led from the right corner of his mouth to the lower eyelashes of his right eye. It was still a livid pink, a fresh scar. The Spy turned away, rubbing his ungloved hand over his face as he entered the steaming water.

Hot water hit tensed muscles, and the Spy groaned happily as he massaged his arms happily. Here, he could afford to have a moment of weakness. Here, he didn't just have to be the Spy all the time. No one would see his hair or his other scars here. He could be himself, for just a little while.

Beyond the small massage and the few moments outside the mask, the Frenchman showered quickly. He washed himself with expensive soap, shaved the day's stubble off, and shampooed his hair in record time. The Frenchman knew he had a bit more time today than usual, but the matter of cleaning up his gun and checking over his equipment took precedence. Toweling off quickly, he padded out of the bathroom towards his closet. Most of it was the top-quality suits and masks that BLU provided him, along with a few personal effects.

The Spy changed quickly, sighing happily as he slid on a new shirt and blazer. Once dressed, it was simple to gel back his hair (with the help of a few hair pins) and slip the mask back on. The clean, dry fabric was comfortable (if not a little constricting), and with his daily routine done, the Spy picked up his weapons and scattered them on the bed.

His revolver was going to need some through cleaning, which he didn't have time for. He would strip the revolver after the round; for now, he could use the Ambassador. The disguise kit was waterproof (according to the instruction kit when he first received it), and after poking around and bringing up a few disguises the Spy placed it in his blazer pocket. The invis-watch was perfectly fine as well, and it was returned to its place on his wrist. The sapper was scratched up, and there was no way telling that it was functioning or not. The Spy left it on the bed. He could pick up a spare from his locker.

By the time he was done going over all of his equipment, the hallway was already filled with noise and the start of the daily disputes. The Spy emerged from his room to see one of the Demos grappling half-naked with one of the Scouts, with one Soldier watching and cheering. Ignoring this, the Spy followed the smell of fresh coffee past the fighting teammates and strode into the kitchen area. The BLU Engineer, bless him, was already sitting down with a fresh pot of coffee, sausage links, and eggs. It must've been his turn to cook breakfast for the team, judging by the excellent smells coming from the kitchen (only the Engineer could make the best out what they were provided). Spy's intuition was proved right when he saw the coffee maker full of coffee and plates of sausages, hash browns, and eggs available. _Perhaps my day is looking slightly up, _he mused.

Breakfast progressed better than usual. There was only one incident of Pyro incinerating a plate of sausages (claiming that they weren't cooked enough) and the Engineer managed to calm down the Soldiers after the usual dispute over their Shovel's seating arrangements. Once this was over, the team finished breakfast, saddled the Scouts with cleaning the dishes, and proceeded to the Respawn room. From there, the Spy retrieved his replacement sapper from the piles heaped inside his locker, along with the smooth silver barrel of the Ambassador. He paused a moment, tracing the etched pattern of the hand cannon. It was a present from an old friend (who had something of an obsession with his paramour) when he first left on this job. It was a powerful weapon, but it was hard to use. The revolver could fire faster, and it was easier to follow up on than the Ambassador.

"Spy?" Medic's voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned around, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his face blank. He knew what the doctor wanted to talk about, and right now his day did not need the memory of yesterday night to sully it.

"About last night," The doctor kept his voice low, and he stepped closer, "vat vas that about? You vere bleeding from a puncture wound after hours, and ah had to pull at least fifteen splinters from your injury before ah could use ze the medigun to patch you up. Vat happened?"

Now the Spy grimaced. Smoothing out an imaginary crinkle in his suit, the Frenchman cleared his throat a moment before meeting the Medic's gaze.

"I appreciate ze care, docteur. I received ze injury before ze end of ze round. Ze other team's Spy decided 'e wanted me to suffer and pushed me off of ze roof. I landed in ze pond, but I also hit ze log on ze way down. Zat was ze source of ze injury. I managed to crawl out of ze pond and bandage myself, but I passed out before I could make it back to ze base. After zat, you know what happened," The Spy lied easily, the fabrication slipping off his tongue easily. That was what he was trained to do, to lie and deceive at a moment's notice. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach, but it took a moment to shove it back down. The Medic relaxed, satisfied by the answer.

"Ah vould take care in ze future, herr Spy. Ze RED Spy has been known to toy with his chosen victims. You know ze incident with ze BLU Scout's mother…" He trailed off, but the Spy didn't need the story to be retold. Thanks to 'the incident', the Spy had to put up with the Scout's mistrust and childish pranks from day one on the job. It wasn't his fault that the other man had a poor taste when it came to keeping the job and personal feelings separate.

"I will most definitely keep zat in mind, monsieur. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare for today's battle," The Spy murmured, patting the Medic's shoulder on his way to the sliding steel door. The Announcer called the 30-second warning, her voice booming over all the loudspeakers hidden in the base. The Spy steeled himself, flicking out his balisong over and over between his fingers, reveling in the feeling of the small blade. It was easier to calm his thoughts and doubts (and the confusion he still felt after being saved) by watching that lithe blade circle his fingertips. The Announcer was counting down. 5. The Spy pocketed his blade, instead drawing the Ambassador. 4. He checked the full charge on his invis watch, ready to use it. 3. A deep breath, to steady his nerves. 2. 1. The battle had begun.

The Spy let the bulk of his team charge out first, before slipping out, invisible. He jogged toward the eaves, where he would have a bit of cover to let his watch recharge. Letting the cloak slip, he leaned back against the wet wood, finger firmly on the trigger of his Ambassador. The area looked clear for now- he could probably gain some distance to save time now. The Spy took one step out of cover, legs tensed, ready to run.

He woke up in Respawn a minute later, ready to throw up his breakfast. Doubling over and clutching the handrail running around the room for support, the Spy barely choked back a retch. What got him? He remembered taking a step out, and then he was waking up in here. Perhaps he had been backstabbed? That would explain why he couldn't remember how he died- it had been too quick to realize what was going on. The Spy would have to avoid that area now- if the RED Spy was hanging around he did not want to get into a knife fight with a man who was just as good as him with a blade. The Medic's reminder of how the man liked to toy with people flashed in his mind. With that in mind the Spy stepped outside of the automatic steel door.

It was a few seconds before he realized he was a few feet back from the door again, nursing what had to be the worst headache in existence. Groaning, the Spy sat down for a moment, rubbing at his temples. _One minute._ He had been alive again for one minute, and now he had respawned from another death he couldn't remember with a killer headache. How had he died again? Grumbling, the Spy stood up, clutching his head, and stumbled out of Respawn again. The cold rain would clear his head soon enough. He lasts about 45 seconds this time.

The next time the Spy tries to get out of Respawn, the bullet pierces his right shoulder, giving him a few seconds to collapse right before the second bullet splatters his brain matter against the ground. _The Sniper. _Of course! How could he not realize why he was dying so quickly?

The man was somewhere overlooking BLU's Respawn area, and whenever Spy tried to go out, the RED Sniper would pop him in the head. That explained the headache that was steadily getting worse. The Spy hissed in pain, rubbing the heel of one gloved palm over his forehead. Next to him, the Medic was doing something similar- rubbing his temples softly with one gloved hand.

"Did ze Sniper get you as well?" The Spy hissed, glancing over at him. The Medic met his gaze and nodded.

"Ze Soldier managed to find his hiding spot und take him out, but ze Sniper took me out before rockets destroyed his hiding place. Ah saw the rockets heading towards him before ah ended up here. However, he seems to be mainly gunning for you, herr Spy. Did you do anything to piss him off?" The Medic asked, but the Spy shook his head.

"I did nozzing to 'im ze last round. I was too busy with capturing ze Intel to find 'im and pick 'im off. I did not even touch ze Sniper. Zis round 'e has been too busy killing me for me to do anyzhing. But I'm 'oping I can return the favor soon enough," The Spy snarled, rubbing his temples in a fruitless effort to ease the headache.

"I vill be leading our Heavy and Soldier out in a few minutes. Vhen ve do, I suggest you slip out in ze distraction and find ze Sniper. Take 'im out, und zen head for ze RED's Engineer. Ze man is in ze main building, blocking ze best route to ze intelligence," The Medic hissed, standing and training his healing beam on the newly spawned Heavy.

"Ze Demomen haf been trying to target ze Sentry, but ze RED is being clever. He has the Pyros helping him, and he has placed his machines out of ze direct line of fire. Ve vill need an ubercharge in order to destroy it, but ze Sniper has been taking out both my patients and myself. However, once you take care of him, ve can move in. If ve fail, you should move in and try to take out his nest. At ze very least, ve can take out ze Pyros so you vill have more of a chance. I vill make sure ze others know of zis plan. Shall ve?" The doctor finished with a flourish, offering the Spy his hand. The Spy considered it a moment, and then sighed. He grasped the proffered hand and shakily rose to his feet.

The Medic had a knack for taking charge of their team, and he was happy to let the doctor do so. Even if the plan meant that he had to take out the Sniper, which felt pretty daunting. Hell, he hadn't realized the Australian was killing him every time he stepped out of Respawn until the man decided to toy with him. How was he supposed to find him and take him down? He would need to change his equipment, at the very least. Rummaging around in his locker for a few seconds, the Spy finally located what he was searching for. The Cloak and Dagger, a device he had earned a few weeks back. It was different than his regular invis-watch. If he didn't move, the charge would not go down. It would help him remain invisible as he crossed the battlefield, since if he paused at the right moments, he would never have to drop the cloak.

The leather band of the new watch felt unfamiliar on his wrist as the Spy slipped it on. The Spy preferred the stock invis-watch; it was simpler to use. Gripping the Ambassador tightly, the Spy exchanged nods with the Medic and activated the cloak. The Medic then gestured to the Heavy and Soldier, and the whole party proceeded out of Respawn. The Spy ducked out next to them, gaining distance from the other three. He sprinted across the battlefield, wincing as mud splattered up his pants and soaked into the lining of his shoes. While the largest portion of the battle was being fought in the main building yet again (it was a deadlock as usual), that didn't mean the other parts of the battlefield were deserted. Crouching in the mud, the Spy checked the charge on his watch again, hefting the Ambassador. The main building was out of view now except for high windows and the rooftops. The Spy scanned these from his hiding place, looking for the slim barrel of a rifle. There was nothing so far.

The Spy began to move again once the charge on his watch was full. The way behind the main building was clear for now. The Pyros, according to the Medic, were busy helping the RED Engineer guard his sentry nest. He could swing around the back and use the ladder there to access the roof of the main building, which would give him the best vantage point. The RED Sniper would probably be farther away from the main struggle, but close enough to get good sightlines on any BLUs. The Spy stilled as the sniper rifle fired, the loud crack sounding clearly over the soft patter of rain. He couldn't locate it from where he was, crouching in the mud. Slowly, he rose to his feet, eyes roving over the buildings.

_There!_ A red dot traced a circle over the shack facing the largest building, before skirting the tire treads that marked the slope down to BLU's Respawn. The Spy stumbled out of hiding, desperate to trace the sight back to its owner. The Australian was hidden by the deep shadows thrown by the arch of a window of one of the shacks connected to the main building. It would be easy to sneak up behind him using the backdoor ladder. The Spy allowed himself a small grin as he stared up at the shadowy figure. Finally, it was time for a little payback.

A footstep nearby made him freeze. With a small curse, one of the RED Spies popped into existence only a few feet away, fingers tapping the small screen of his watch. The Spy hardly dared breathe; the man was so close. Vivid pictures of the fall off of the roof made him gasp, his heart hammering in his chest. But the other Spy seemed preoccupied, muttering to himself and tapping the invis-watching impatiently. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Spy let his cloak drop. This garnered no visible reaction from the other man, whose back was turned to him. Holding his breath, the Spy took one step closer. There was still no reaction. He crept forward, hand disappearing inside his sleeve. The Ambassador was placed on the ground, and the butterfly knife made no noise as the Spy twirled it, preparing for the kill. It was time to drown out those feelings of helplessness and terror. The RED Spy was oblivious to his fate until the very last second.

The Spy clapped one hand over the man's mouth, yanking his head back and leaving his throat exposed. The RED's eyes bulged with panic, and he tried to struggle briefly before the butterfly knife slit his throat. The blood sprayed from the wound, soaking the Spy's sleeve in red, but the Spy didn't care. "So nice to see you again, mon ami," He gave a low chuckle, watching the enemy Spy's eyes flick up to him for a moment before the man gave a wet gurgle and finally fell limp. That felt good. The Spy knelt down, wiped his blade on the man's ruined suit, stowed it safely back in his sleeve, and then activated his cloak. The Sniper didn't stand a chance, especially now that the Spy's mood had improved so drastically.

Behind the largest building, the RED had a positive nest of activity. The Spy bit back a loud curse as he watched the RED Medic and his patients stand guard around a teleporter, They were probably building up an ubercharge to counter his team's, hidden away. Maybe they were going to try a flanking maneuver, to trap the BLUs between the anvil of the RED Engineer's sentry and the hammer of their strike. Either way, it didn't look like his team had much of a chance to get out on top. He crept forward, bent low to the ground, gritting his teeth every time the Medic paced back and forth in front of the ladder. He would have to time this to avoid smacking into the enemy doctor. The last thing he wanted was for the enemy team to realize that he was there. He could do this, albeit slowly.

_Non. I need to move now. _The Spy scrabbled forward, just barely missing the nozzle of the flamethrower. One of the Pyros had emerged from the main building in a sweep of fire, its masked head swiveling too and fro. It was searching for him. The Spy bit his lip as it passed a few feet from him, mere inches from the Medic. The cursed Pyros always had a sixth sense when it came to checking for Spies. He eased himself backward, his eyes focused on the Medic and the Pyro as he slowly progressed up the ladder. Once at the top he let out a small sigh of relief. He didn't plan to be set on fire any time soon, and the Pyro showed no indication of checking the rooftop. A quick glance revealed that the Sniper had not moved from his hiding place. The man was crouched over the scope of his rifle, tucked in as close as he could under the eave of the window to avoid getting wet. The Spy grinned again as he drew the Ambassador. It was loud, and it was flashy, but he needed to get this message across.

Just like with the RED Spy, the Sniper did not have a chance to react as the Spy moved in for the kill. Instead of covering his mouth, the Frenchman opted for a more direct approach and locked the arm around his neck, effectively cutting off all sound. "Bonjour," He smirked as the man struggled underneath his arm. The Sniper was strong, but the Spy had a better grip and the element of surprise. After a moment, the Sniper stilled when his hood was yanked back and the Ambassador placed against his temple. The Spy grinned.

"Enjoy the headache," He snarled into the RED's ear, before pulling the trigger. The Ambassador truly paid for itself… and now the front of his suit and mask was speckled with brain matter and blood. He flicked some of it off of him, letting the Sniper's corpse slump to the tiles. The man's eyes were dull, and his expression was caught in a mix of surprise and fury. He couldn't lie; the sight made him feel a tiny bit giddy inside.

"You got blood on my suit," The Frenchman hissed mockingly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Wiping off the Ambassador with a pocket-handkerchief, the Spy activated his cloak, leaving the Sniper's corpse for his teammates to find. He had an Engineer to kill and machines to destroy.

The task itself was surprisingly easy, compared to sneaking around most of the RED team. The other side of the main building's roof dropped down onto a platform built between the larger building and a smaller shack. The platform led into an open hallway in the main building, which was where the RED Engineer had chosen to build his sentry nest. The RED Pyro was present as well, shuffling around and firing flames into every nook and cranny. Approaching was impossible with the freak on guard. The Spy would have to wait until his team was ready for a successful assault. While he had been taking care of the RED Spy, he had no doubt the Sniper had been wrecking havoc on his team. It was probably the reason why the BLUs hadn't gotten off a single ubercharge yet.

The Spy crouched at the edge of the roof, merely inches above the head of the RED Pyro. The suited figure was playing guard dog in the doorway, blocking the back entrance into the Engineer's nest. It was all quiet inside the main building for now, but the Spy knew in seconds there would be more blood spilt. _There! _The sentry began to fire, and over the sound of rockets and screams, the Spy took his chance. The RED Pyro did not hear the cloak drop, nor did it make a sound when the Spy dropped down and buried his butterfly knife in its back. He pressed up against the wall when the deed was done, unsure if the sentry would turn around and start firing at him. He pulled out his disguise kit, and selected the Pyro mask. Thus armed, the Spy waited a minute for the disguise to take effect, and slipped into the nest. Sentry fire masked his footsteps as he strode towards the Engineer, who was too busy repairing his sentry under BLU's assault.

Unlike the RED Spy and Sniper, the Engineer was not taken by surprise. He had time to partially turn and see the Spy standing right behind him. "Sp-!" The Texan tried to shout, but the butterfly knife in his spine cut off the rest of his sentence. The Frenchman fumbled with his electro-sapper for a moment, and then applied it to the sentry in a rush. The fizzling of electronics was music to his ears, as always. For good measure, the Spy also applied it to the dispenser. He was doing well today, minus the dying spree caused by the Sniper earlier. Things were looking up. The BLUs were finally pushing in on the main building, and the Spy slipped back out of the doorway he entered, stepping over the Pyro's corpse. He couldn't get back to the roof, but he could go around and take the RED Medic by surprise-

Yellow liquid splashed into his eyes, and the Spy swore loudly, clapping his hands over his face. Whatever it was, the yellow stuff was warm, and it was soaking into his suit everywhere. Wiping his eyes, the Spy looked down at his suit for a few seconds. _Urine. _Why was he covered in- _Oh, merde. _There was only one person who threw piss around on the battlefield. Rubbing at his face, the Spy tried to stumble back inside the main building, but suddenly a stinging pain in his shoulder propelled him forward until he slammed into the wall face first. An arrow. He had been hit with an arrow. The Spy turned his head over his shoulder as far as it could go, weakly held in place by the arrow in his shoulder. The RED Sniper approached him, bow in one hand with another arrow nocked, hood and mask hiding his emotions. The man's hand tensed on the bowstring, and a few seconds later the Spy coughed blood as a burning sensation occurred in his stomach.

Another arrow was fired, this time into his thigh. His palm was next. By the time the Sniper was done, the Spy was ready to pass out (and probably die) from the bloodloss. He was in pain, and he was sick and tired and covered in urine and he did not want to the Sniper's stress toy for much longer. Lips weakly curling into a snarl, he hissed, "Just get on with it already. I don't have all day, _bushman._"

The thinly veiled insult was there, meant as a taunt. The Spy was more than ready for the uncomfortable sensation of Respawn, if it meant getting away from the fact that his body was on fire in about twenty different areas. The sound of a blade being drawn made the Spy tense up, choking as the movement aggravated all the wooden shafts buried in his body. He was already so warm from the blood he was losing, and he sagged against the shafts as the Australian's footsteps grew closer and closer. The Sniper didn't say a word as he ran the Spy through with the kukri. The Spy exhaled and grunted at the stinging pain in his gut, but said nothing. Everything was getting fuzzy and suddenly night was falling and nothing hurt anymore.

And then the Spy woke up to the bright lights of Respawn and the concrete walls and while tiled floor. His limbs were sore, and his head felt ready to split open. Fishing his disguise kit out of his suit pocket, the Spy withdrew a cigarette and lit it up, taking a long inhale. _Not my fault the Sniper decides to throw a fit over being killed once._ Groaning, the Spy held his head in his hands, trying to clear the nauseating sensation of being pinned to a wall and gutted like a pig. _What made him so angry, anyway? _He was not being paid enough for this.


End file.
